


It's That Bitch Again

by Xenoprime1337



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Action, Bloody Violence, Death, F/F, F/M, Guns, Intense Situations, M/M, Organized Crime, Post-Canon, Racing, Racist Language, References to Drugs, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 14:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenoprime1337/pseuds/Xenoprime1337
Summary: Elsa Delrio is a well-established crime boss that has skills and resources galore. The only thing she doesn't seem to have is patience for the idiotic or the soon-to-be-dead. She's clean cut, cold-blooded, and crude as all hell. But success like hers can only last so long...right?Contains intense swearing, bloody violence, and more. Set after the events in the campaign.





	It's That Bitch Again

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there. Seems you've stumbled onto my third fanfiction on this site. Welcome! Hope you're ready for a wild ride, because that's exactly what you're going to get. This story is based in the multiplayer world of Grand Theft Auto V, but will also feature elements from the campaign for consistency purposes. This story focuses on my avatar in the actual game, and there will be a lot of swearing and (possibly) offensive terminology thrown around. For the sake of my sanity, this story is basically set in the real world, except Los Santos takes the place of Los Angeles. Also, the rules of this world are only slightly more realistic than the game world. Bullet time and concepts in a similar vein are utilized here not out of necessity, but for the sake of making things more interesting and fun.
> 
> But I digress. Let's just get into it.
> 
> WARNING: Just like the game it is based on, this story may feature terminology that might be seen as offensive. This terminology, if implemented, will be implemented for the sake of realism and satire. It is not intended to insult or trivialize anyone, and should not be taken seriously or as my opinion.

Let's skip the bullshit and get introductions out of the way.

My name is Elsa Joanna Delrio. I'm thirty-nine percent Mexican, thirty-five percent Irish, twenty-one percent Scottish, five percent Italian, and three hundred percent badass. I live in Los Santos, the premier shit stain on the west coast of the United States. Sure, it's not hell itself, but I'm pretty sure the devil has a timeshare here.

The city itself is full of scoundrels. Scumbag jumpers line every alley, crooked cops are around every other corner, and scammers in cheap suits set up shop everywhere else. No one is truly happy here. Most people are either constantly getting fucked over by bad people, or pretending that they're not constantly getting fucked over by bad people, depending on the neighborhood.

A very small percentage of people in Los Santos are actually satisfied with their lives, and a fraction of _those_ people are the bad people that fuck over everyone else. These people include corrupt government workers, actual government workers, and soulless corporate douchebags who throw darts at a board to decide what minority or neighborhood to fuck with next.

Then there's the exception to the rule: the crime bosses.

Career criminals, gangsters, mobsters, cartel heads, kingpins, hitmen; you know who I'm talking about. They're the people you think you know a lot about thanks to Vinewood, the ones the cops never catch and you never see, but who pull the strings behind all the crime in a given city. I would say you're wrong, but in all reality, you're not.

In the case of Los Santos, there are quite a few crime bosses, but no one would know them just by looking at them. From the outside, they seem like your average tax-paying citizens. They keep to themselves, they keep their noses clean, and they even respect local law enforcement. No one can say they know them personally, but everyone assumes that they're at least decent people.

That's bullshit, to put it lightly. The crime bosses of Los Santos are vicious, conniving, and brutally efficient. They have training in various skills that make them dangerous on a national level, and most of them have enough collective resources to put the majority of the city's population six feet under in less than twenty-four hours. They run guns, boost cars, sell drugs, and do dirty work every day to stay at the top of the food chain.

As I'm sure you've guessed, I am one of these crime bosses.

I've been in the game for about twenty years now. I started out boosting cars for easy cash when I was eighteen, then transitioned to racing them at around twenty. When I took my road show to Japan two years later, I was scouted by the head of the Yakuza and did a circuit in Tokyo before being officially inducted and trained to be an assassin.

In five years, I underwent the most brutal training program ever devised, learning karate, krav maga, and jujitsu alongside unconventional skills such as CQC, kendo, archery, and precision driving.

When I finally returned to the US, I used my new resources and skills to start a franchise, recruiting all manner of skilled killers and statisticians to make Los Santos my bitch. Though I technically had blood ties to both the Santa Maria Cartel and the Irish Mob, I made a name for myself in the underground as a professional assassin until about six years ago.

That's when I tried my hand at white collar crime and made it big.

Fast forward to the current day, and we're all caught up. I'm on the cusp of turning forty, but I look and feel like I'm at least ten years younger thanks to my training and meticulous upkeep of my health. I don't drink or smoke, but I spout obscenities like a goddamn fucking fountain.

I have over twenty-five cars in my collection, one of every firearm known to man in my armory, seven well-trained killers on my personal payroll, five high-end flats in three different parts of Los Santos, well over twenty-five million dollars in reserve for personal expenses, and a nightmarish amount of money that's currently being laundered by my supposedly legitimate business to keep in good standing with the Yakuza in Japan.

I wipe my ass with toilet paper leafed with gold, my watch is worth more than the average American makes in five years, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually paid my taxes.

Suck on that, America.

Like anyone else, I have my faults. I would say I'm racist, but that's only because of cultural influence. I'm allowed to make fun of myself. My beliefs are pretty straightforward. I believe in myself, God, the American dream, and overwhelming aggression as a solution to most of my problems. It's a fucking great way to live.

I have the skills to pay the bills, and you better fucking believe me when I say that I can put my money where my mouth is. The average citizen of Los Santos might know me as that bitch who lives on the twenty-fifth floor of Richard's Majestic. The underground and everyone else associated with it knows me as that bitch who wreaks havoc wherever she goes and whenever she goddamn pleases.

* * *

Monday morning found me standing on one of the Arcadius Business Center's three lower towers. It was a fairly hot day out, and to my eternal surprise, there was no wind, not even at this staggering height. Factor in how humid it had been over the past few days, and I was understandably uncomfortable, so much so that I was forced to take off my white suit jacket and sling it over my shoulder.

As I wiped a few beads sweat off of my forehead, I had to wonder if the wind would pick up. I knew Teddy was comfortable with Florida weather, but I wasn't.

Teddy is one of my enforcers. He's a brilliant sharpshooter, easily one of the best in Los Santos. His real name is Ted Donovan. He's a tall man with ash blonde hair and a jawline that would give Hercules an inferiority complex.

Trained to shoot from the age of eighteen in Miami, Florida, Teddy went on to complete two tours in Afghanistan and rack up a total of thirty-six confirmed kills for the U.S. Army before looking for work in California.

He sold his services to a number of less-than reputable folks before I snatched him up at an underground job fair. They're like flea markets for mercenaries. Eventually, I earned his trust as his employer, and he earned the many benefits that come with being one of my elite enforcers.

Teddy, per my instructions, was posted on top of the Maze Bank Building, his trusty Barrett Model 82A1 poised to rip anyone dumb enough to get on my bad side in half. The Maze, if you don't know, is the tallest building in Los Santos, and is only a few blocks away from the Arcadius Business Center.

Even though I knew Teddy had my back, I was still a little antsy.

Due to the nature of the negotiation I was going to be a part of, I had been forced to go through the business center's security checkpoints. Naturally, this meant that I was unable to bring any weapons, ballistic or otherwise, to the roof with me. This normally wouldn't be a problem...if it weren't for whom I was supposed to be meeting on that rooftop.

Darci: an old rival of mine and a total bitch. Well, 'rival' is a strong word. 'Annoyance' is probably more apropos.

Every time I've tried to make a deal with her, she's tried to snake me out of my end of the deal, kill me, or both. I've almost ended her sorry existence twice. The only reason I have yet to follow through is because she happens to be under the wing of an old friend of mine.

 _One more time_ , I told myself. _One more time, and I can do away with her.  
_

I tapped my foot impatiently as I leaned against the big A/C unit on the tower roof. Something told me she would be late. Sadly, I couldn't kill her for being late. I could kill her if she tried to kill me, which, given the circumstances, was more than likely to happen. But that could only happen if she ever bothered to show up.

Finally, after almost fifteen minutes of waiting, a helicopter came into view.

"Hey, chief," I heard Teddy say, "There's a helicopter incoming."

"I see it." I put a finger up to my earpiece. "Can you confirm that it's her?"

There was a pause. I assumed he was taking the time to look through his scope. "Yeah, it's her alright," was his answer.

I felt a grin tug at the side of my mouth. "Think you can hit her from where you are, Mr. One Shot?"

A muted chuckle came through the line. "Affirmative, Miss Skeptical."

Most underground job fairs operate under aliases. These aliases are, for lack of a better word, tacky, but they do serve a purpose. For employers, they ensure anonymity or authority, depending on who it is. For the mercenaries, they serve as a sort of advertisement for the employers.

Some are pretty funny. Some of them are boring. Some of them are just stupid. But when I saw the name Mr. One Shot at an underground job fair in Chicago, I was intrigued. Though I wasn't in the market for a marksman at the time, I looked into him and his exploits. The rest is history.

"Both of us have made that shot, you know," I said.

"Yeah," Teddy said. "But I've done it twice," he quickly added.

My lips quirked up into a smirk. "True, but when I did it, it was with a Desert Eagle."

I could almost hear him shrugging through my earpiece. "It's still a .50 cal."

"Mine's still more impressive," I said, mockingly jovial.

Teddy didn't miss a beat. "It's a fluke, is what you mean."

"Kiss my ass, Teddy," I scoffed.

Our petty argument came to an end prematurely as the helicopter we had sighted flew by overhead and started to come down on the landing pad a few stories up, kicking up the wind as it did. I could only barely see the tip of its tail rotor over the A/C unit, but I could tell that the helicopter was a small, private craft painted in black and yellow. Darci's signature.

I breathed out a sigh and put my jacket back on as the breeze played with my pixie-cut auburn hair.

"Showtime," I muttered loud enough so Teddy could hear. "Don't take a shot unless I say so."

A resounding click came through the line as he chambered the first round. "Copy."

I could hear the chopper's engine wind down from where I was on the tower, but I couldn't hear more than that. I glanced at my watch. It was just past 11:30. I frowned. We were supposed to meet at ten.

Darci, no doubt, would say something about being fashionably late. Last time she said that, one of her flunkies tried to bash my knee in with a monkey wrench. I left that 'meeting' with the man's severed hand in my purse.

The other curious thing was the fact that she had come in by helicopter. We had both agreed to go through the business center's security points to ensure neither of us had lethal weapons on us. I should have seen her come up one of the tower elevators. Yet, there she was, blatantly breaking one of the crucial stipulations of our agreement.

I let out a sigh. I had to hope that Darci would be smart enough not to try and double-cross me. Sure, she was a bitch, but I'd rather do business with her than kill her in cold blood. Even so, given our history, I had a sneaking suspicion she was going to try it anyway.

Eventually, I heard the door behind the A/C unit open. It stayed open for a few seconds before creaking shut. I heard the clacking of heels, and the soft taps of two pairs of suede shoes on the tower roof. Darci and two of her hired guns, no doubt. I fumed silently as they approached. Darci and I were supposed to come alone. There was no way she simply forgot about that.

Any doubt I had about Darci's true intentions disappeared instantly. It really seemed like she was going to try and put me in my place.

I half expected Darci's goons to round the corner and gun me down with suppressed pistols, but I was greeted instead by Darci herself, flashing me a toothy grin. As usual, she was wearing black and gold everything. Stupid high-and-mighty queen bee wannabe bitch. Her black hair shot out of her head like a firework, curly and long, and her dark skin was flawless and smooth. A goldenrod clutch dangled from her right shoulder.

"Elsa, baby!" she said happily.

"Darci," I said, feigning joy.

She reached out for a hug. I reluctantly accepted, being sure to keep an eye on her goons, who had just entered my line of sight. They were both bald black guys clad in black turtlenecks and jeans. As she released me, I looked her up and down. She didn't appear to be armed, but I couldn't be too careful. After all, I know from experience how many weapons you can fit into a handbag.

"You're late, Dar," I said flatly.

"Oh, you know me. Fashionably late." She gave me a very exaggerated wink.

I just shook my head. "And the goons?"

She looked back over her shoulder at them. "Oh, they're not here because of me. They're here because of _you_."

"Really?" I said with a wry smile.

"Oh, yeah. Trey told me to bring some guys along on this job to discourage an altercation between us. You know how he is."

I frowned.

Trey Yearling, better known as Solo by the underground, is one of my closest friends and the head of his own crime syndicate. He's also Darci's boss. Given my and Darci's history, it didn't surprise me one bit that Solo had called in some...insurance. After all, this was his deal as much as it was my deal. We had to make it happen.

We were supposed to be making an exchange. I was trading drugs I had stolen from a local smuggling ring I had shut down for twenty grand in cash. I had hidden the drugs in the A/C unit I was leaning on the night before. One of Darci's henchmen had the cash in a leopard print suitcase. It was a simple operation, but it could go bad in an instant.

Solo knew that just as well as I did. Maybe he wanted Darci and me to reconcile on that rooftop. Still, I couldn't just ignore the fact that she hadn't gone through the building's security. I had to be careful.

"I assume you have the cash?" I nodded toward the right hand goon, who held the leopard suitcase.

"Sure do, honey. You got the nose candy?"

I jammed my elbow into the A/C unit, forcing open the small hatch I had cut into the vent with an electric saw. A leather briefcase toppled out of the hatch a moment later, landing right at my feet. I picked it up and opened it so that Darci could see what was in it. Cocaine, and a lot of it, was packed into the felt-lined interior, white blocks of powder wrapped in plastic.

"My, my. That is a lot," Darci said, clearly impressed.

I closed the case and lowered it to my side. "It's yours if you give me the cash."

"Sure, thing, baby. Oscar, bring me the case."

The right hand goon stepped forward and handed Darci the leopard case. She opened it to reveal stacks upon stacks of hundred dollar bills. It was a welcome sight. After a moment, she closed it, eyeing me warily.

"I trust we can make this happen without killing each other?"

"Depends on what you do, bitch."

She shot me a cocky grin. "Right back 'atcha, honey."

Oscar took a step back, standing beside his matching cohort, both of them ready to act. Darci and I sized each other up, looking each other over with steely determination. We each took a step forward. Then another step. Then another.

When we were close enough, we extended our cases out toward each other. I took the handle of the leopard case just as she grabbed the handle of my leather case. With a nod, we let go of our original cases and took our new ones, watching each other the entire time.

A few seconds passed before the tension died down. I had my money. Darci had her drugs. The deal had gone through without a hitch.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Darci said with a chuckle. She turned and handed the drugs off to Oscar. I set my newly acquired twenty grand down next to me, careful to keep a watchful eye on Darci.

"What, that's it?" I said, still slightly on edge.

"That's it, Elsa baby!"

I relaxed slightly. "Alright, then. Bye." I turned, grabbed the money case, and moved to make my exit.

I had only taken a few steps when a soft metallic ring reached my ears. My whole body froze. I knew that sound.

On instinct, I dropped the case and rolled to the side. I looked up just in time to see a knife whirl through the space my head had occupied a second earlier. It bounced off the tower roof a few times before tumbling over the edge and into the ether. I looked back to find Darci pulling another knife out of her golden clutch.

"You missed," I said as I readied myself.

Darci toyed with her knife as she handed her clutch to Oscar for safekeeping. "Aw, honey, I was just tossin' it to ya."

"Some toss," I scoffed.

She shrugged. "Not my fault you didn't catch it."

"What is this, the third time you've tried to kill me?" My lips curled into a knowing grin. "I expected something more...underhanded."

"I wanted a fair fight," she said, gesturing toward me with the tip of her blade. "No bullshit."

"I take it the knife you threw at me was the one that _I_ was supposed to use?"

"You catch on quick."

"You're a whore," I sneered.

"Maybe. But this ho's got a knife, and I'mma use it to cut your skinny ass to pieces."

Darci kept a tight grip on the knife, and her gaze was fixed firmly on me. She seemed intent on following through with this fight. Stupid whore-ass bitch needed to learn her goddamn place, and there was no better time to settle our score. My instincts told me that it was kill or be killed, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than to put Darci in the fucking ground.

It was a win-win. I didn't care if Solo didn't like it. The bitch had asked for it, and now she was going to get it.

She charged at me, holding the knife in a reverse grip. I put my hands up and watched her movements carefully. She came in on my right, swinging horizontally. I ducked back and out of the way as she swung again and again.

Each time she swiped out at me, she returned to the same position; left hand back, right hand holding the knife so that its flat was parallel to the ground and its tip was pointed at me. Every once and a while, she would flip the knife in her hand so that it was front-facing. It didn't make a difference, however.

I dodged all of Darci's slashes rather easily. Her form was solid, but she didn't vary her attacks very well. This made it very easy for me to punish her poor form.

The opportunity finally presented itself when she took a leaping step forward and tried to stab me in the chest. Anticipating the attack, I redirected it, whirled out of the way, stepped behind her and delivered a solid chop to the side of her neck. I followed up with a couple of kidney punches.

She swiped out in retaliation, but I ducked underneath and countered with a solid uppercut to her gut. While she was doubled over, I turned and delivered a side kick that sent her skidding across the rooftop. The blow was enough to knock her on her ass, but she quickly rolled back onto her feet, somehow managing to keep her grip on the knife.

To my surprise, she only _looked_ pissed. She didn't charge in screaming like she usually did. Instead, she moved up slowly, moving the knife over to her left hand and switching her stance to reflect the change. I had to raise an eyebrow at that. She was right-handed. Switching to her non-dominant hand in this situation seemed like a bad move despite her advantage.

That didn't stop her from trying to make the most of it, though.

Darci gritted her teeth, closed the gap between us, then swung out horizontally at me. She let her momentum carry her into a spin, swinging out at a similar angle. I dodged both strikes, but she immediately followed up with a snap kick, which was quickly followed by two alternating jumping snap kicks. I blocked the first two kicks, but the third one caught me in the jaw, snapping my head back.

Seeing her opportunity, Darci rushed forward and delivered a solid running punch with her free hand that sent me reeling. I backed up, but she followed, trying to stab me in the gut. I reached out with both hands and caught the blade before it reached me, but that left me wide open for another two-knuckle.

I was forced down on one knee, and Darci shoved her boot into my face and pushed me off balance. I rolled back onto my feet, but Darci closed the gap and delivered a knee to my face before I could stand up fully. While I was staggering back, she put the knife into her other hand and stabbed in a downward arc. If I hadn't dodged to my right, the blade would have gone right through the top of my head.

It buried itself into my shoulder instead, eliciting a very loud roar of pain.

"You fucking whore-ass bitch!" I screamed out in rage and tried to retaliate, but Darci had a handhold in the form of the handle of her knife, and she used it to her advantage. She hit me with three knees to the gut in a row, keeping a death grip on her knife the whole time. I wanted to punch her, but I ended up just grabbing onto her shoulders. I tried my best to try and push her away from me, but she kept her footing and delivered two more knees and another punch before finally pulling the knife out.

She switched to a front-facing grip. My eyes widened in realization as I figured out what was coming next. She grabbed me by the hair with her free hand and made to cut my throat out. All it would take was one thrust, and it was over. I wasn't about to let that happen, though.

Just before Darci stuck me like a pig, I redirected the attack with my right hand and grabbed her wrist tight. I proceeded to spin around in place and try to deliver a swift back elbow with my left arm, ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder.

While the elbow didn't connect, I did manage to grab her wrist. That put her at a serious disadvantage. I quickly reached down with my free hand, relieved Darci of her knife, then pulled her into a solid side kick that left her flat on her ass.

I tucked the knife into my belt as she scrambled to get back on her feet, a satisfied smirk on my face. When she finally did come at me, I was ready. She ran and leaped at me, her foot kicking out at my head. I calmly stepped out of the way, and when she landed, I put my toe onto the small of her back and pushed.

She face planted hard enough to warrant a laugh, and laugh I did. I laughed so hard that Oscar and his twin exchanged concerned glances. Darci, clearly pissed to the point where she was seeing nothing but red, quickly picked herself back up and charged at me like a raging bull.

 _I am so mean_ , I thought as she ran, her hands balled into fists.

One missed punch was all the opening I needed. I quickly countered with a lightning-fast snap kick to the jaw made her stagger back onto one knee, then ran in for what looked like a football tackle. Instead of tackling her, though, I used her knee as a foothold, jumped up onto her back, planted my hands on her shoulders and gave Darci a little taste of free-form aikido.

I used my momentum to keep myself moving as I twisted around Darci's right shoulder and wrapped my legs around her neck. She struggled to try and throw me off, but I flipped back around so that I was essentially playing piggyback with her, my arms around her throat. As I spun around again, I grabbed Darci's right arm and used my speed to flip myself like a professional gymnast before once again grabbing her neck.

My legs swung out and carried me around her body one final time before I took her down. With a grunt of effort, I flipped over, took out the back of Darci's knee with my hand, grabbed her arm with my other hand, and rolled her onto the ground using my legs. We tumbled a few times before I finally got her in the position I wanted her, my arms wrapped around her arm and my legs wrapped around her head.

Leaning back, I grabbed her forearm with my left hand and her bicep with her right hand. I was intent on pulling my limbs in toward my body and snapping her arm like a twig. Before I could do that, though, Darci turned the tables on me in a way that cost me dearly.

As she struggled to get out of my aikido hold, Darci must have seen that her knife was just in reach of her free arm. She didn't hesitate to grab at it, and just as I was about to pull her arm apart, she took it and jammed the blade into my left thigh.

"Ah, fuck! You fucking whore-ass cunt!" I didn't have the time to say much else as Darci yanked the knife out, scrambled up on top of me, and made to plunge her blade into my chest.

Everything happened in the span of seconds. The tip of the blade came surging down at me, aimed in the general direction of my heart. My eyes widened in surprise. There wasn't enough time to safely block the attack or redirect it. The only thing I could do was react, and self-preservation trumped technique as I moved to stop that knife from killing me.

With a yell, I put my left hand up so that it was between me and the knife. Darci didn't stop, and the knife sank into my palm and pierced out through the back of my hand with a sickening sound. Warmth dotted my face and trickled onto my caramel-colored vest and then-pristine white shirt as I tried my best to keep the knife from moving any closer to my body. I knew from the smell that I was bleeding, but the adrenaline pumping through my body prevented me from feeling any pain.

Instincts told me to resist, to find a way to take advantage of my position, but unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot I could do. Darci had me pinned, and with her knife through my hand, I couldn't escape safely. I had managed to stop her first attack, but I had only delayed the inevitable.

With a grunt, Darci gritted her teeth and slammed her elbow into the knife handle, forcing the blade to go down until the hilt was touching my palm. I tried to punch out with my right hand, but all I hit was her arm. A string of obscenities slowly fumbled out of my mouth as she continued to push down on the knife.

The words ceased when the tip of the blade pierced my chest.

I winced as the knife passed between two of my ribs and punctured one of my lungs, eliciting a few bloody coughs from me. One more good push, and Darci would have my heart on a kabob. Blood filtered through my gritted teeth as I tried to stop the bitch from finishing me off. I tried punching her, kicking her, even biting her, but none of it worked. I had no leverage, and she had all of the leverage in the world.

As Darci reared up to bring her elbow down on the knife handle and pin me to that tower roof, I muttered one final thought out loud. "Teddy," I said shakily, "If you have a shot, you better—"

I was interrupted by the crack of a gun in the distance, which was almost instantly followed by Darci's right arm being severed at the elbow.

Time slowed down as Darci's forearm whirled through the air, ribbons of blood dancing alongside it. The world took a deep breath as the two of us registered exactly what had happened. It was only when the arm hit the ground that that breath was released, bringing with it a horrendously loud screech of pain from Darci. I barely heard it, though. My focus was on survival, and with Darci screaming bloody murder and clutching the stumpy remnants of her arm, I was ready to retake the upper hand in our fight.

Well, so to speak.

I quickly balled my right hand into a fist and gave Darci a sucker punch that knocked her on her back. After rolling backward onto my feet, I took off sprinting, my eyes locked onto the stupid bitch's head. She tried to put her arms up and stop what she knew was coming, but with one of her arms gone, she wasn't able to stop jack shit.

Using my speed to increase my striking power, I slammed the top part of my foot into Darci's jaw. It cracked with a satisfying sound as her head snapped back, causing her now mangled black curls to wobble like Jell-O.

She fell back onto the rooftop, her body instantly going limp. I dug my heels into the roof to stop myself, almost tripping and falling in the process. Just to make sure I hadn't accidentally killed her, I reached down and put my finger under her nose. After a brief pause, I felt her exhale. She was alive.

Lucky her.

It was all I could do to just stand there and look at her. Her right arm leaked red all over the rooftop. I had to step back to avoid Darci's essence getting soaked into my boots. I was breathing heavily, my heart still pounding in my chest. Pain quickly became a part of the equation as the adrenaline from the fight began to wear off.

My chest started to ache, prompting me to look down at the vertical slit in my vest that was slowly oozing blood. I almost didn't notice Darci's goons approach, and I didn't move to stop them when they scooped her off the roof tiles and started making their way to her chopper. It was only when the goon holding the bitch's clutch, Oscar, made to grab her severed forearm that I said something.

"No," I almost shouted. "Leave it there."

Oscar looked at me with genuine confusion and asked, "Why?"

"It's mine now," I said through bloody, gritted teeth. "Take it, and I'll take yours as well."

Comprehension washed over the henchman's features as he looked between me, the arm, and the Maze Bank Building. The mid morning sun glared wickedly off of Teddy's sniper scope as he took aim, more than ready to make my threat a reality. Luckily, Oscar wasn't stupid enough to test me, and he quickly ran off to help his fellow goon tie off Darci's arm before lifting her into the chopper.

I kept an eye on the yellow and black craft as it flew away, wincing as the pain in my hand, thigh, chest, and shoulder began to burn. Ignoring my body's complaints, I walked over and grabbed the leopard skin case that held today's earnings. I grabbed the handle with a white knuckle grip, mostly because of the pain, but also because I was fucking pissed.

"Jan?" I said to seemingly no one, "It's E. Send a chopper, ASAP. I need medical attention."

"Copy that," a very cold, pragmatic voice came through my earpiece. My secretary, Janet. "Ace is currently en route to your location, with Finn and Lobo in tow for support. I've arranged for Dr. Harbough to rendezvous with you at your closest high-end apartment. Teddy is moving to exfiltrate and return to base. ETA for all is five minutes."

I breathed a sigh out of my nose as I grabbed my white suit jacket. Seeing as my left hand had no gripping power after having a knife through it, I put the leopard case down and used the jacket to keep pressure on my chest wound. As the white of the fabric slowly faded to red, I hacked up some more blood, wincing as it slowly became more difficult to breathe.

My vision was swimming by the time my support team finally landed on the tower helipad. Due to severe blood loss, I could barely even object as Lobo, the second of my seven enforcers, swept me up off my feet and laid me down gently in the rear seats of my personal travel copter. As the engine whirred to life and the landing rails kissed the sky once again, I let my vision and the pain I was feeling slip into the void of unconsciousness.


End file.
